African climbing guide who fell
to his death last December on a
similar expedition. Our group
also included fellow Coloradan
Peter Garber, who has roughed
it for months at a time in the
region, and photographer Gor
don Wiltsie, a veteran of expedi
tions to both Poles.
We left in early August
aboard Trinidad,a sturdy
50-foot wooden boat, sailing out
of the Chilean fishing port of
Puerto Natales, nearest village
to the Sarmiento. We timed our
visit for the southern winter
because, despite the drawbacks
of short days and the cold, local
reports suggested that we could
find openings of calm weather.
Trinidadpitched and bucked
on the gray seas. We were trav
eling in the latitudes known to
mariners as the Furious Fifties,
where winds charge in like
freight trains from Antarctic
waters. Ten woozy hours later I
saw the cliffs of the Sarmiento
between blasts of spray break
ing over the bow. The pilot had
told me about Jaco, the spirit in
local folklore that guards the
Fjord of the Mountains, which
we now entered. Clinging to the
rail, I poured a stream of Chil
ean pisco -brandy-into the
sea, calling out to Jaco for safe
passage. We would need all the
luck we could get.